


Firsts and Seconds

by roundandtalented



Series: Quake Theory Fics [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Domestic Blackrom, M/M, Purring Trolls (Homestuck)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 03:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20941832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roundandtalented/pseuds/roundandtalented
Summary: The first time you purr for him it's purely accidental. You don't mean for it to happen, it just slips out of you.





	Firsts and Seconds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xagave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xagave/gifts).

> Xagave prompted me to write the first time Merlin purred for Barbel, and somehow that ended up being 2k words lol

The first time you purr for him it's purely accidental. You don't mean for it to happen, it just slips out of you.

You're the kind of troll who has everything in order, from your closet to your finances to you paperwork to your emotions. Usually. Usually you have everything under control, but your spade loves to add chaos to your daily life in new and exciting (read: infuriating) ways.

Barbel seems to find joy in making your life just a little bit more difficult, commonly in a manner that does no lasting damage, but causes enough of a problem to annoy you. He's good at that- being incredibly annoying.

He's a spoiled brat so used to getting his way. An attention seeking fuchsia so of course getting any work done around him is next to impossible. Yet you keep bringing home office work, knowing he'll pester you anyways. Because maybe you can get some done just by sheer force of will, right? Unlikely, but not impossible if you put your mind to it.

His usual tricks for getting you distracted are almost always desk related. You work at your desk, all your files are at your desk, and your desk is in your favorite location in your hive. It happens to be the most accessible location for a certain seadweller, so Barbel tends to start his bothering with whatever is on the top of the desk simply because it's easy for him to get his hands on it.

Your pens, your paper clips, your stapler (in the past he's used up all your staples and hidden the replacements... or just snatched the stapler and used it to spit crunched staples in your general direction), your tea.... anything he can get his hands on appears to be fair game.  
Tonight it's your hair.

You made the mistake of letting it down after work this evening, because in the comfort of your own hive you normally don't mind if every bit of your person isn't perfectly in place. Comfortable clothes help you de-stress from a day of dealing with fish who think rules and ship regulations don't apply to anyone with fins. Except you come hive and a certain sassy fish has let himself in the back door (in all fairness, you did make it for him, _and_ you gave him a key) and thinks he's entitled to your every waking moment. 

He's freshly showered, since he knows you loathe when he smells of salt water, and you can smell his shampoo as he fusses with the hair draped over your shoulders. He try and flick him away when he combs his slender fingers through it, hand half the size of your own, but he just switches sides, draping himself against your shoulders and peering down at the papers your trying to read over.

"Just fail them, no one would blame you." He remarks, noticing all the barely satisfactory boxes being checked off. It's not that simple- and you're sure you don't have the energy to explain the issue with someone who'd be more of a thorn in your side if you didn't pass them, than a hazard if you _did_. He's fuchsia, he doesn't face the same backlash as a teal like yourself.

You make an indifferent noise, and flip your page to the next one. 

His fingertips trailing through the hair by your temple makes you pause, gaze flicking to him. You're very aware he'd rather you be dealing with him, than dealing with paperwork for unfit ship captains, but you're not about to let him win the battle for your focus so easily.

Unfortunately, he does know most of your weak spots by now, and it's not even been a full sweep with him in your quadrants.

He combs your hair back, gentle with his blunted claws, dexterous little hands sweeping strands back and then braiding them in tiny strips. He doesn't ask you to stop working as he goes through one side, then the other, twisting your hair together, braiding the braids over and over. It tickles your ears when he gets close, and you hear him snicker when you shiver, hair tickling your skin as he holds a cluster of braids together.

You likely look /so stupid/ with his messy work on your hair, but his touch brings a different worry than the concern for someone seeing your shitty hairstyle. Instead, as he combs his fingers into the hair between your horns, you start to worry about the grays you know are there. Dark gray roots mixed in with your perfect inky black hair, long strands that start in your widows peak and end past the curve of your ears.  
Barbel doesn't have those same grays, likely won't for nearly three times your entire lifespan.

You worry if when he threads those grays together with the black, braids them back down your neck, if he thinks you're too old and crotchety already. If he'd prefer a troll who still has a few thousand sweeps before their haircolour starts to fade.  
You swat at him again, finding yourself too concerned to focus on your work properly.

"Quit messing with my hair. Grow your own out and play with it instead." You huff at him, but he's too quick for your hands, catches your fingers in his and brings them back, behind your head. He's puts your knuckles to his mouth as he stands behind you, nips at them so lightly- he could bite, if he wanted, but he won't. That wouldn't be fair, that's not a challenge, and he considers you worthy of a challenge.

He ghosts his short fangs over your skin, squeezes your fingers between his.

"Where's the fun in that? Your hairs the best for messing up. It's more satisfying to ruin something pretty." 

Your pusher is warm in your chest with the way he smirks at you when you try to look at him, and when he lets your hand free you don't take it back right away. Eventually you do, you're only halfway through your work after all, but you're slow about it.

To Barbel's credit, he makes a mess but he _does_ know how to clean up after himself. Usually he chooses not to, but you think he knows he's being distracting enough like this and starts to undo the braids he's put in your hair one by one. As he combs them out, his fingers linger, trimmed claws dragging against your scalp until you catch yourself having read the same paragraph on a page three times.

Your shoulders are loose, eyes half lidded, and the coolness of his hands isn't nearly as jarring when he's brushing your hair like he has all the time in the universe. Your spade leans against you again, desk chair partially in his way. Barbel noses at your ear as he continues to comb.

"If you're not making any progress, why not take a break?" He asks, faux sweet. You know what he wants, and you're not about to give it to him just yet. You're enjoying his attention, even if he's distracting you thoroughly. 

"Mmn." You try to shake your head no, shrug him off, but he drags those blunted claws between your horns and your worries about your gray hair melt with your posture.

"I'll order you something greasy and covered in cheese on doorsmash." It's both a threat and a taunt, but he kisses over your pulse in the same breath. He knows what that does to you, it's why he's doing it- but the hand in your hair scritching lazy circles into your scalp has you rewired tonight. Has your eyes closed and head pressing into his touch.  
It takes you a moment to notice his pause, and then another moment to figure out the disastrous, uneven sound you hear is a rumble from yourself.  
You're purring, and it sounds awful.

Fear clambers it's way into your throat, sufficating you, choking that purr to a stop as your own hand comes to your collarbone. The sound stops, but your eyes are wide as you try and shrug Barbel off you, try to dismiss that you even made any sound at all.

When was the last time you purred? Was it even on this planet? Was it even post ascension? You don't think it was, and that's terrifying because you've been living in this hive for most of your life so far.  
Barbel purrs all the time because he wears his pusher on his sleeve (he doesn't wear sleeves, that doesn't work, fuck), but that's okay because he's pretty and smooth and a cocky little brat- he can purr because it sounds /good/. He's permitted because that part of him isn't flawed and broken and-

And-

"Aww, no, bring it back," Your spade pouts at you, papping at your shoulder.  
"That was an adorable mess, do it again!"

Ugh. Yeah, he's right, it was a mess. 

"Do what? Did you hear something? I didn't hear anything." You dismiss Barbel pointedly, picking up your pen and trying to get back to work now that his spell on you is broken by your own self-loathing and self-consciousness. 

"Oh _come on_!" He pulls his hand from your hair, and you already miss it but you're just as stubborn as he can be. "Merlin!"

"Barbel," You mock him, copying his tone, just to watch his cute face scrunch up in annoyance when he doesn't immediately get his way. 

He eventually stomps off to order the two of you garbage food for dinner. It's a delicious cheese covered monstrosity, but you know you'll suffer for not having healthy food instead. It's a constant battle you lose about twice a week with your junk food junkie boyfriend- he's got the funds, and you're always too caught up in your work to stop him from just ordering meals for you. 

He's the fucking dock warden, but he eats like a seven sweep old who thinks their enthusiasm for videogames substitutes for a personality. If he were anything but a fish, you're sure he'd have serious health issues already.  
Barbel drives you up the wall but you wouldn't trade him for the world.

Over the next few weeks, you spend every morning that he goes hive to his lusus (instead of climbing in 'coon with you) trying to improve yourself. With a hand in your own hair and your eyes closed, you work on smoothing out the rumble of your purr. 

You're determined to have a good one. A hot one, even. One Barbel won't tease you about because he'll be too blown away by how much better yours is thank his own. You're terribly fond of his little rattley one, but you want yours to sound as confident as you wish you were.

The second time you purr for him, it's planned and on purpose in every way. Barbel is wrapped up in your arms, cheek pressed to your chest as the two of you lay on your platform, exhausted and content. You know from how tired he is, he'll stay with you til the next night, and go to work the same time as you. It's comfortable, it's routine almost. It's safe.

So you let yourself purr for Barbel as he relaxes on top of you, dumb smile on his face. He picks his head up as he hears the smooth low rumble in your chest, and even though your eyes are shut, you know he's staring at you. His mouth is probably open a little, gawking at you. You know him well enough that you'd bet money it is, but you're determined to keep your eyes closed and just enjoy yourself, let him hear you.

When he presses his cheek back down to your chest, you feel that smile of his on your skin. And then you hear him start up too, that annoying, genuine, rattley purr of his matches up with your deep one.

You're still purring when you carry him to 'coon with you later, and you're not so hard on yourself when it stutters a little as Barbel noses against your neck in his sleep.


End file.
